Page 88 of More or Less a Countess
“I believe you heard me perfectly well, my lord.” Violet didn’t spare him a glance, but marched across the room toward the windows. “I wish to speak with you, and I won’t do it in the dark.”
Nick threw the coverlet aside and leapt from the bed. “If you lay a single finger on those drapes, Lady Dare, I swear I’ll—”
He didn’t get any further, because Violet dove for the window, snatched one of the heavy silk drapes in her fist, and jerked it open with a quick snap of her wrist. A narrow beam of sunlight spilled across the room, but before she could grab the other one he was there, his bare chest at her back, and his powerful arms wrapped around her, trapping her against him. “Do you suppose I won’t toss you over my shoulder and carry you out myself? You should know better than that by now.”
Violet shivered as his warm breath drifted over her ear, but she kept her voice cool and steady. “I don’t pretend to know what you’d do, my lord. I hardly know you anymore.”
A soft, mocking laugh fell from his lips. “Oh, but you do know me, my lady.” He turned her to face him and wrapped his fingers around her wrists. “I’m The Selfish Rake, remember?”
Violet blanched as she stared into his cold gray eyes. A part of her wanted to do exactly as he ordered—to flee this room, and leave Nick in the darkness to battle his demons alone, but two years of solitary struggle hadn’t freed him from his ghosts. He’d never be free of them—not until they were torn loose with bare hands.
Very deliberately, Violet began to prod at the rage inside him. Shewantedhis fury—she wanted to make it heave and shudder and swell until there was nothing left to feed it, and it burned itself out.
“Youareselfish, my lord. I thought I’d wronged you with that sketch, but only the most selfish of men neglects his wife and abandons his every honorable impulse to wallow in self-pity.”
“You…I…” Angry red color rushed into his cheeks, and he was so furious he couldn’t form a coherent sentence, but Violet didn’t even consider a retreat. Now that she’d begun, she’d finish, and face whatever consequences fate dealt her.
“Is this how you envisioned our marriage, my lord? When you insisted I become your wife, did you imagine yourself sneaking into my bedchamber each night to touch me, without ever making me yours?”
The color drained from Nick’s face. “You want me to make you mine, my lady?”
Violet raised her chin. “We both want—”
He jerked her hard against his chest. “Oh, Iwant, my lady. I want to toss you onto my bed right now, spread your thighs and sink into that lush heat I’ve dreamed of every single damn night since I first laid eyes on you. I want to put my hands all over you. I want to make you sigh, and moan, and beg me to take you, and I want to hear you scream my name when I do.”
Heat rushed over every inch of Violet’s skin at the dark desire in his voice, but even as seductive warmth bloomed low in her belly, she wanted to beat her fists against his chest in frustration. “Yet you’d deny us what we both so desperately want because of asketch?I’m your wife, Nick.Your wife. You insisted on this marriage, and now you’re content to let it wither away like your mother’s dead flowers in the conservatory? If you want me, then take me.”
He laughed, but it was a dark sound, filled with despair. “I want you, sweet—I want to take you more than I want to breathe, but when passion overwhelms you and you do cry out a name, I’m afraid it won’t be mine.”
It won’t be mine…
He’d whispered the last words, but they echoed inside Violet’s head long after the room had gone silent. She went limp against him as the hope drained out of her, and with it any urge she had to keep fighting. She was tired, so tired, and this battle had already been lost, hadn’t it? It was lost before she had a chance to fight it—lost in a single blow.
The exhaustion she’d been struggling against fell over her again, and dear God, it was so heavy this time, heavy and wet and suffocating—far too heavy for her to fight it. She could scream until her voice was gone, beat her fists until they were bruised and aching, drop to her knees and beg, and still it wouldn’t be enough.
He was never going to forgive her, and she…
Oh, how could she ever have believed Lord Derrick had broken her heart? How could she have thought that tiny scar was anything like this wound that cleaved her heart in two? She’d never mend it, and she’d never recover from it. It was hers now, and she’d never crawl free of it.
He was staring at her, his chest heaving. “Do you think this is what I want, Violet? Do you think Ieverwould have insisted on this marriage if I’d known what you truly thought of me? Christ, if I could go back to that night in my aunt’s sitting room and make a different choice, don’t you think I would, for both our sakes?”
Violet forced words through her numb lips. “You wish you hadn’t married me.”
“Don’t we both wish it?”
She stared up into his handsome face. His eyes were so beautiful they’d win any woman’s heart, but she’d known that from the start, hadn’t she? She’d known he’d take her heart, and that he’d break it. And yet it was strange, so strange to find it could be broken again and again, in the time it took to say a single word.
She dragged in a few short, shuddering breaths, but she couldn’t swallow back the tears stinging her eyes. They would spill over, fall down her cheeks, and she didn’t want him to know, didn’t want him to see…
But he did see, and his face went ashen. “Violet.”
He tried to pull her against his chest, but she tugged her wrists from his grasp.
“Violet, please.” He reached out his hand to her, but she backed away and flew across the room to the door.
She never got it open, because in the next breath Nick was there.
“No.” He braced his arms on either side of her shoulders, trapping her between the door and his body. His chest was bare, his skin warm, and within seconds her senses were swimming with his scent, that impossible, wonderful scent of amber and wood, and…
